


Let Down

by charmainders



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, Character Death, Character Study, F/M, Post-Movie: Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2, Pre-Guardians of the Galaxy (2014), Romance, Sad Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 01:36:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17234972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charmainders/pseuds/charmainders
Summary: For so many years, he's led to believe that maybe happiness isn't meant for him. And yet when he finally gets it, it lasts for only a while before life rips it away from him.Soon, it's gone.





	Let Down

**Author's Note:**

> This piece of work was done with a prompt, with thanks to the MCUFC group for the inspiration and allowing me to be apart of something big!

_There was an emptiness where his soul was._

For the longest time, Peter grew up hating himself for losing who he truly was. Growing up hardened, he drank to his heart’s contentment every single day, lay in bed with girls and ran away in the morning without saying goodbye or having any sort of acknowledgement, promising himself that he’d break the habit, only to do it again within the same twenty-four hours. There was no way to break out of that habit once he’d turned old enough to hold his liquor and get so piss drunk that he couldn’t even remember his name or anything else, and all that was on his mind was the female he had somehow hooked up with.

People on terra would’ve called this as the need to constantly forget, or just alcoholism at its finest. Sometimes others would call it the need to seek validation and the need to feel normal, _psht_ , as if he ever was normal. But this was just his way to cope. Memories continued to haunt him as he drank shots of heavy alcohol every night, never leaving his mind as the reservoir of tears soon ran dry, and the music he’d loved as a child beginning to become meaningless, the words all sounding the same, the tune insignificant to his ears. He continued to steal whatever he was tasked to, but somehow, all of it just felt forced. It really wouldn’t matter if he disappeared from the face of the galaxy and ceased to exist.

_“Take my hand, Peter,” a voice rings through his mind, as he does so, reaching to hold his mother’s hand as she flatlines in that hospital bed, the monitor coming to a dead halt. He knows he’s done all he can to fulfil her last wish, to hold his hand, to be close to him. And he’d seen her go, but even if the death were hard on him, he’d be able to accept it._

_Except that never happened._

There he lay, awake in white, luxuriously soft sheets, together with a sex robot that he’d used the night before, for his own satisfaction. The robot lay awake on his chest, curling her fingers through her blonde, shoulder-length hair. No words were spoken. Peter, for the first time, began to truly wonder if this is what sex is really supposed to feel like - empty, a blank state, _nothing?_ He could, honestly, just get up and leave without saying anything, and let the sex bot shut down until her next use. It’s then that he realises that even his own sex life is just as empty as his own soul was, completely void of emotion or feelings. Way to go, Peter, it only took you _thirty_ years to fucking realise that. Round of applause for the moron.

As he sipped his bottle of alcohol he purchased from the convenience store later that evening, he stood by the rails of the steps, feet on the ground of Xandar as he drank to his heart’s content. Nightfall had brought out the darkness of the skies on the vibrant planet, bustling with the nightlife of teens and young children as they ran around, carefree with their hair in the wind. How Peter would pay to experience that again for himself, instead of the fucked up childhood he had as a Ravager. The back of his throat burns painfully with the heat of the alcohol, swallowing it fast as he threw his head back to down into his gut. Oh, how the pain turned into pleasure.

Sometimes Peter wonders if he’ll ever just stop feeling bad for himself and just move on from all the pain he’s felt in the last thirty years. It’ll be so much easier for him to cope that way. There’s nothing out there for him but to steal and earn that little cash from whatever heist he was tasked to complete. He couldn’t go beyond the known galaxy and there were only that many things he could do before he really got bored of travelling again.

* * *

As nights passed, he woke frequently in cold sweat, but there was no scream or frantic panicking anymore, unlike how he would do so as a child or even in his teens. He pulled his knees to his chest, eyes red-rimmed and tired, tears free flowing and staining his blanket as the mixtape continued to play in the system. It became a routine to frequently wake up like that, and by now, Peter was used to it. Dreams no longer meant anything to him, unlike how it would have as a young, innocent child with large puppy eyes. They simply _never_ came true, and he was left in the emptiness, the knowledge that he’d never find the true definition of happiness for himself. And somehow, he was okay with that life.

He was totally okay with it.

No longer any screaming, trashing, or sob.

Just the feeling of becoming numb, and trying to be someone he's not.

_That emptiness stayed._

* * *

Something changed in the span of four months when he met the Guardians.

Rocket may have been a little piece of shit that always found ways to piss him off, by building bombs with scraps in his own drawers and arguing over who should be in control of the ship. The racoon _(I’m not a racoon!)_ played it off like he didn’t care. But he saw the way Rocket cared for Groot, for the team when they had injuries, mess ups. He may not show the care, with his grumbling and constant irritation, but Rocket did care about the team’s wellbeing and would go out of the way to help with the nitty-gritty things, like the fuselage of the ship that was constantly needing some sort of repair.

Drax was loud. Sometimes he didn’t really care for the minute little details and called people names. Bicker with absolutely everyone in the ship. Sometimes even start fights. But Peter knew he cared about the team, having even admitted that this team has become his family in so many ways. He makes dinner and sometimes supper a few times a week because he knows the team likes it, and he’s the best at making a meal with leftover scraps of food that were initially unappetising. Takes out the trash because the team hates the smell. Does the laundry like a mother. Drax did care. And it was obvious, for his case.

Groot may just be a sapling, having just managed to step out of his pot, and is currently regrowing. He’s got anger issues, and sometimes he doesn’t sleep because of his angsty problems, game control in his hand which may be Peter’s fault, in a bid to calm his tantrums. But at the end of the day? He’s got the tenderness of a young baby, learning everything from scratch, dancing to Peter’s music absolutely everywhere, even if it’s the wrong time to be doing so. Groot makes his heart _warm._ And Groot cares for him, by little shows of affection like patting his cheek or tugging his earlobe. It’s the thought that counts, right?

Nebula may be _rude._ Snarky, sarcastic, sometimes too straightforward. Peter understands it’s a side effect of how she grew up. He’s seen the way Nebula acts around Gamora - they may have years of work that needs to be done to rekindle that broken sisterly bond, but Nebula often reminds him that Gamora’s cybernetic enhancements in multiple places in her body need to be checked on the weekly and even makes calls back to their ship, just to check on Gamora. She even taught him how to check for the enhancements from scratch so Gamora wouldn’t have to do it alone and struggle to get it done.

Mantis may be too sweet and innocent for her own good, often misunderstanding things and being incredibly naive, as well as invading people’s privacy (which Peter knows is completely unintentional, so he can’t really be mean about that, since she _does_ help him to sleep better sometimes), but at the end of the day, she’s incredibly selfless, putting team members ahead of herself, often checking in on their mental wellbeing, since she’s the empath. He’s seen the way she stays by her teammate’s sides when either one of them had issues with sleep. At her own expense, she stays up for them and ends up sleeping through the day. It’s hard to slip by her with emotions because she could easily sense these things. Her opinions may seem silly, but they do make sense with more understanding. And Peter appreciates that she’s always around to mediate the arguments.

_And then there’s Gamora._

The girl was...silent. Often lurking around the ship in the softest of ways, with no ill intention, she was often absorbed with something else, like cleaning her sword or with something else that didn’t mean much to the rest of the team. She spoke a few words, most of the time only during crucial situations that required her input. Every action and movement she made was delicate and calculated, like a dancer. Her one-word replies were common during the days and it wasn’t something Peter was phased by. After all, she was a woman of few words.

He’d always notice her careful and delicate ways during the evenings. When the team were all retired to their rooms and they’ll be alone, all he does is observe her. Sees the way she acts. And to his silent amusement, she doesn’t do much - just watching the endless flat of the galaxy as they travel through the place they’ve come to call their home, or, in a way, their base of operations. It’s funny, he thinks, because it’s so like her to be like that, but was he really expecting more? Maybe. But he certainly isn’t surprised by it. He keeps her company, stays by her side through the night. Often there would be music from his newfound Zune. 

He thinks she’s still going through the trauma, of which it never seems to have an ending in sight for any of them. The team has all their own forms of trauma - Rocket has his about being made into a cybernetically enhanced animal. Drax has his about losing his wife and daughter. Mantis has hers about Ego and being treated like an object for his own use. Groot...maybe not so much. Gamora has hers, too, and it comes with more than just the nightmares, _it comes with emotional baggage._ He knows better than to ask, really, but it makes him curious to ask what she was like in her younger, innocent days, a life where she didn’t have to worry about killing planets, families, or doing dirty work for Thanos.

* * *

It’s funny, he thinks, how he told himself that love doesn’t exist, at least not in a world where he was still alive, or maybe even in a world where he lives in Missouri happily instead, with his mother and grandfather. He’s become too broken for that kind of belief, that innocent way of thinking. Maybe if Gamora had met him as a child, they would’ve eloped and ran away together to somewhere distant in the galaxy, where nobody could find them and they could grow up together, be happy with each other and forever. It’s all wishful thinking. It makes him think if this would have all been different if they met in other ways, or never met at all.

It comes to a point of time in their friendship in which he sees how she’s unable to sleep, drinking excessively to remotely drown out her own sorrows, but to no avail. He offers to be her drinking partner, but she laughs and swats that offer away, claiming he would be piss drunk before she even got into the mood of drinking, and she wasn’t wrong about that, as much as he hated to admit that. She can’t get drunk anyway, because of her two livers, and it’s sad because he knows that feeling of wanting to get drunk, but being unable to because of _circumstances._ One night he finds himself slipping into her room when he’s supposed to be on flight duty, and he stays by her side. He’s heard yelling and screaming from her bedroom, and it takes a few soft pats and a gentle hand from him to help her ease back into a better night’s rest. He wishes he could do more to help. But until she acknowledges that there’s _something_ more than just friendship between them, he has come to learn about the lesson of personal boundaries, and where exactly to draw the line for them both. 

But then another night, probably a few days after he first starts slipping into her room to take care of her in the night, she comes looking for comfort in his arms, opening his room door and standing there like a little lost child, and for the first time, he sees right through her - that emotional wall is beginning to break, crumble with each and every tear that leaks from the corner of her eyes, even in the cover of the dark galaxy outside the windows, and he can’t help but widen his arms for her to come to lay in, so he can hug her tight to his own body and help her sleep. For the first time in nights, trapped in his own thoughts as he stays awake, at the expense of his own rest so he can take care of Gamora, he’s beginning to realise that maybe he isn’t the only one going through this pain, of keeping sorrows to himself, of feeling trapped even though the guardians are now more than family to him. 

When she wakes in the morning, she seems confused at first by the brushing of a person’s fingers through her long curls, not in any way threatening, but rather comforting. He notices the way that she’s most innocent and vulnerable when she’s just woken up like that, hair messy and face bare of any makeup. When she realises what happened last night, that innocence further melts, as she moves closer and hugs him tighter to herself, hiding her face in his chest. No words were spoken, just actions that further solidified the fact that maybe, just maybe - she felt something more, so did he, perhaps they were finally acting on them, after going around in circles for weeks, that turned into endless months.

* * *

Perhaps this was a long time coming for them both, like Mantis always told him when she caught him staring at Gamora from afar - here he sat with her in his arms, leaning against his chest as they cuddled the night away on their flight deck duty. They’d always found some way to be in each other's arms even out in the battlefield. When he’d been more than sure that she was alive and safe, he made sure to hug her tightly in his arms and keep her there. Right now, with her in his arms, comfortably sated and happy, he realises something else - he didn’t need anything else to rid of his sorrow. He could still live with it, learn to cope with his demons that constantly haunt him to no end, but then there was something else that he had - someone to understand that. His demons may forever live with him, trapped in his mind as they speak to him, making him trash in bed when he woke up from them, but he’s learnt to cope with them better, how to accept that it’s a part of his life, and it may not all be bad. _After all, what’s a person without his personal problems, right?_

Besides, he always had the comfort of his girl, and she understood that too.

And she happens to look up, as if catching onto the fact that he was deep in some sort of thought, sitting up straight so she can look at him better. He’s still the same man, one year on from the events of Xandar and Ego, with the same stubble, jade eyes, moustache and curly, dirty blonde hair, but he’s more content than he has ever been in his thirty over years. He sees the way her eyes sparkle in the dim artificial light of the flight deck, the way she looks at him with purity and utmost trust, as if he were her homeworld and she belonged there. Her features grow soft with every passing moment as they seat there, his hand in hers, her other free hand brushing his hair. He has finally found somewhere that he belongs, somewhere to call home, and this is where his heart wants to be. They may risk their lives every day for the singular purpose of keeping the galaxy safe, though he knows he’s more than willing to do it, with his family by his side. 

And she kisses him like he’s the best thing ever for her, cupping his face gently with her warm, green palms, and it makes him melt into the seat, full of passion and love that both of them have found for each other. In that moment of time, nothing else matters other than that.

The world melts away into something else, and for that little bit, it's just them both.

_That emptiness was now filled with the familiarity of family, the beauty of having them by his side. It may not be much, but it’s more than enough for him._

* * *

But then all too soon that’s taken away from him, in the face of the red and orange that fills her beautiful emerald features, fire surrounding them as he has his blaster pointed at her throat, at the point that he knows all too well would easily kill her, because even her modifications can’t stop her from getting killed, even if she wishes for it. He knows her better than anyone, that fearless facade she pretends to hold in the face of danger is slowly crumbling into fear and pain, at the hands of the person that tormented her as a child. The sickening promise she requested of him, face tear-filled as she spoke of it, it rings in his mind, just mere hours ago back on the ship, and he feels the bile at the back of his throat, _he’s going to be sick,_ he wants to throw up because of this. At this stage, he truly wonders what the promise was about. One that could bring her close to tears when none of her thoughts had been powerful enough to even make her flinch the tiniest bit.

That sick son of a bitch that’s never failed to haunt her nightmares, even in his embrace that has softened the horrors into better nights, the one who would stop at nothing for his own gain. He eggs Peter on to shoot her, and for a moment Peter can’t help but stare at the love of his life, struggling to breathe properly, but still pretending to smile so he can live better with the pain, in the knowledge that he did what was necessary, and it would be a sacrifice that was worth the millions of tears that would come later after it happened. _After I die, live on without me and find someone else to love, Peter. That’s all I ask._ That conversation hurts his heart, pounds at his mind, playing like a broken recorder, and his body feels like a ragdoll, even with his arm outstretched, and his blaster just in her face, much more than just lethal if he took the shot right now, and he would fulfil her promise, at the expense of her life, and he would move on one day from all of this, maybe find someone else that would love him too, the same way Gamora had always done; the way her hands would curl in his so delicately, like he was made of the finest of paper and he would crumble if she held too hard.

_I love you more than anything._

_I love you too._

But that moment never comes.

His heart shatters, but just a little bit, because, just perhaps, he’s numb enough to the loss.

* * *

_Where is Gamora?_

He wishes he never asked.

And as he realises that maybe he could’ve done so much better, he looks on as Mantis and Drax both turn to dust, becoming nothing. He prays for a split second that maybe he won’t end up with a fate like theirs, but the moment he sees his fingers crumble to ash, he knows that his time is up. Nothing else can be said, done or rectified to become correct again. He wants to yell, but his vocal cords feel like they’ve been cut off with a chainsaw, throat dry as he gasps for air. My time has come. There’s no scream, _nothing._

He’s let down everyone in his life - the guardians, Meredith, and Gamora.

In those moments, all he sees is Gamora, her breathtaking smile, the way her lips linger on his after they kiss sweetly in the mornings and the nights, the way she touches him with delicate fingers as they cuddle, her fingers tracing his jaw and down to his biceps, and the way she touches his cheek, the way she kisses his forehead before bed, with a whisper of _I love you, good night._ He craves for that, even in his last seconds, wanting affection from the person he feels most complete with, hallucinating rather briefly, but gaining nothing in return, his heart now shattering, crumbling to a million pieces, each one smaller than the last, but it doesn’t matter. He’s fading to ash anyway, and nothing could be done about it. 

_There was an emptiness where his soul was._

_And maybe he rightfully deserved it._


End file.
